A Shadowy Figure
by noraagnes
Summary: Kathryn just moved into her new flat. Every night she notices something that no one else does. There's something different about 221 B. It will take time for her to realize the true reason for her being linked to the old resident of 221B Baker Street. But one day, with the help of a few friends, she might just learn
1. Preview

**Preview**

It was a normal day on Baker Street. It began like most of them do, rainy, dull, cold… London. That's how it always looks, to the untrained eye. For someone like me, it's so much more.

From my flat I can see across the street in the window of 221B. It was the home of the great detective Sherlock Holmes. He died months ago, or rather killed himself months ago.

His friend, Dr. John Watson, has visited the flat only twice since the death. Once, carrying books away, and a second time bringing them all back. His first steps in the door were always slow and hesitant, his steps away took twice the time, ending with him turning back to look once before sliding into the cab.

I visit every night, not literally, only though my imagination (and my windows that can see through to the windows of 221B). It's not my imagination however that creates the man. Every night at precisely eleven twenty-three I see a tall man crawl through the upper window. After he is in the flat I can see his shadow pacing to and fro, often stopping to look out the window at the street below. After the figure disappears in the morning Baker Street looks itself again. Some nights I wonder if I might ever actually see the figure's face.


	2. Part One: The Café at Sunrise

**Part One: In the Café at Sunrise**

"Thanks," I smile as I'm handed my cup of tea. It's early in the morning so not many people are here. I walk over to the seat next to the window and sit down. The early morning fog still lays over the street.

I continue to sip my tea as I observe the few other people in the small café. A jogger, no doubt coming in after only a light run as she doesn't appear to be sweaty enough to have run for long (and judging by her physical appearance this isn't the first time she's skipped her day's run to have breakfast at the café). The only other person in the café is a man. Small, blonde, and judging by the quality of his clothing he has a regular job that pays well. Even from my seat across the room I can see an unusual amount of dirt on his hands. Making a quick decision I walk over to the man and sit next to him.

First, I take a look at his hands. The dirt is under his nails showing that he had been digging at something and did not have the proper tools to do so. There is another thing about his hands though that is peculiar, the tips of all his fingers are worn and rough, as if he writes at the computer all day. The line across his wrist where it rests on the desk confirms that he does a lot of writing. Then, I look up at his face. He is tired, and looks as if he has aged more than he should have due to his lack of sleep. Something about his face is familiar though.

Then it hits me, "Dr. Watson!" he jumps at the mention of his name. He hadn't seen me sitting next to him before. He looks me over once and then returns his eyes to the paper in front of him. It surprises me that a man that spend so much time with Sherlock would spend so little time observing and studying his surroundings.

"Dr. Watson?" I repeat attempting to get his attention.

"Oh, not now," he whines stand from his seat, "I don't want to talk to some other child in love with the 'fictional character' Sherlock Holmes from my blog. I'm not signing any damn autographs." He puts air quotes around "fictional character."

"I can assure that is not what I came to speak to you about," I begin but am interrupted by him again.

"Well, I don't want to talk. I've eaten my breakfast and now I'm leaving," he says throwing trash from his pockets into the bin.

In every one of his blog posts, and in every article I've read about him, I'd never have expected him to be so rude. Something is wrong with him, something I should look into. I go to the last thing he had that might have information about what he's doing, the bin. The trash he threw away was not a napkin it was a receipt. The receipt is for a flower shop, which explains the dirt under his nails. The thing that makes the least sense is why is he back on Baker Street? He hasn't lived on Baker Street since Sherlock's death.

Getting an idea I head out the front door. Looking on both sides of me to be sure no one is around I quietly sneak over to the door of 221B Baker Street. I place my hand on the doorknob and pray it's unlocked.

It is.


	3. Part Two: Behind an Unlocked Door

**Part Two: Behind an Unlocked Door**

I hear a soft click and push the door open. The place is kept nicely. It's cleaned well, though it doesn't look like anyone has been walking through these halls regularly. Everything at eye level is shiny and shows very little signs of age. While everything six feet or higher is covered in dust. It's as if the person who regularly cleans the house can only reach up to five and a half feet. They had, at one point, someone who would help them clean the tops of doorways and the top halves of windows. Now it looks as if that person has disappeared. The entire entry way is nearly identical to my own. Slowly, I step up the old stairs to get to the apartment above. With each step the floor lets out a low creek. I'm cautious as I go up the old staircase. Someone could hear me, and question why I'm in an apartment that is not my own.

When I enter the flat I quickly deduce that it has not been vacant all the months since Sherlock's death. The light switch is still slightly warm, showing that someone's hand brushed it to turn it off not long ago. I cautiously tip toe into the kitchen where I see multiple microscopes and test tubes. Someone has clearly been doing different experiments in here recently, as they're all left partially done.

With my curiosity getting the best of me, I begin to dig through the papers on the desk. The author of these documents has obviously had a lot of time on his or her hands. He writes quickly, and sloppily, showing it's a person who writes up files daily, or did write up files daily. The papers belong to an old doctor or possible someone in police work that is used to taking notes. In the sink is a pile of unwashed dishes. The food isn't rotten, proving someone was here recently.

"What are you doing?" a voice exclaims behind me. I turn around to see an older woman standing on the floor landing. She's only around five feet tall, proving that she is the one who can no longer reach the higher areas of the entryway.

"I'm sorry, I was just checking out the flat. I thought, maybe because of Sherlock's death this place might be available," I tell the woman. Her face softens a little at Sherlock's name.

"Well it's not. John still has the place. He just hasn't spent the night much since the-" she stops mid-sentence not knowing what to call the event that took place months before. She was close to him, to Sherlock. You can tell by the way she speaks of him. He must've been the one that assisted her in all the cleaning. It's amazing to me that she hasn't noticed that the pile of food grows larger by the day, or that the papers and experiments get moved around regularly.

"Oh," I say walking toward her, "yes I understand, I'm sorry for intruding," she nods her head a little still at a loss for words, "you're Mrs. Hudson right? The land lady?"

She looks at me surprised, "How?"

"Well, I read John's blog. I even read Sherlock's website. I really am sorry for intruding. I live across the street and I've always been curious about this place. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to find me," I say as we walk back down the stairs. She seems like she could use a friend. If John truly doesn't come visit her often, she must be very lonesome. I can tell by the smile she gives me as we reach the bottom of the steps that she is a kind lady. We stop at the door and I say good-bye.

Before she shuts the door she calls out after me, "What's your name dear?"

"Kathryn."


	4. Part Three

**Part Three: Flowers in the Cemetery**

_Click_

As soon as the door to 221B clicks shut I turn the corner to the next street over. Calling for a taxi I hop in and tell him my destination.

"The cemetery? On a day like this?" the cabbie asks. It's warm and sunny, a rare occasion for this town. A normal person wouldn't want to spend today in a cemetery.

"It's never a bad day to visit a friend," I say pulling out the receipt John dropped this morning. It's a receipt for two types of flowers, begonia and gladiolus flowers.

When I jump out of the cab I pay the driver and he takes off. I'm the only person in sight near the cemetery. I enter and begin my search for the headstone with begonia and gladiolus flowers.

Soon enough I find the headstone I'm looking for. It simply reads, "Sherlock Holmes." The dirt around the flowers shows that they're newly planted. That must be the reason John comes to the café if he isn't living in the neighborhood anymore. He visits Sherlock's grave.

Suddenly I get the feeling that someone is watching me. I whip my head around to see an empty cemetery, but then I catch something more. There are footprints in the dirt. Large ones, clearly too large to belong to John, the man who made them was light on his feet, most of his weight was on his toes making it appear that he had been sneaking through the cemetery. The prints are fresh. Someone has clearly been watching me. I would have seen the prints when I came in if they'd been here.

I quickly stand up to leave. I've already had two unwelcomed meetings today. I don't need a third. I walk out of the cemetery and start down the street. Again, I have the feeling I'm being followed. I pick up my speed.

I call a taxi over and have it go quickly to my flat. It's not until I'm in my flat that I begin to breathe again. Something doesn't seem right here. Why is someone hanging out by Sherlock's grave? Who has been working on all those experiments in 221B? There's one logical answer

He must be alive.


	5. Part Four

**Part Four: An Unlocked Window**

It's nearly eleven o'clock. I slowly inch my way in the window of 221B Baker Street. I've got less than thirty minuets to get in the flat and find a hiding spot. If my prediction on who is breaking in every night is correct, then he'll know the second he enters that someone else has been in the flat just by the change of temperature.

Quickly I find a spot behind a door to hide behind. Time goes by as I wait for the flat's nightly visitor to show up. Just as my phone's clock reaches 11:23 I hear the window open. Then I hear a pair of feet shuffle across the floor. The person sits at the microscope and begins working. I peak my head out from behind the door to see who it is.

"You might as well come out. I saw you when I came in," the man says. At that I immerge from my hiding spot and approach the man. "Did you really think I haven't noticed you? You were hanging out my grave today, why?"

So I was right, it is him. "I'm surprised a man of your intellect would need to ask. You seem to be a master at the science of deduction."

"So you're a fan?"

"A master myself," I smile as he looks up shocked.

"You? You're a child," he stands walking toward me. At his great hight he towers over me.

"Oh please Mr. Holmes, don't underestimate me. I know by the look of just your state of dress that I am not the only person who knows you're still living, your clothes are far too clean. Mrs. Hudson knows. She's taken it upon herself to keep this place as neat as possible in case some nosey 'fan' comes snooping around, and she's done the same with your laundry," I surprise him by my knowledge.

"And what have you been working on?" he asks going back to his work.

"My questions first," I insist. He nods his head in approval, "Why haven't you told John?" At John's name he stops his work, but doesn't bring his eyes up to meet mine.

"He doesn't care. I've seen him," he stands and walks over to the skull on the mantel.

"Yes he does."

"Is that your expert deduction? That he still cares?" he asks rolling his eyes.

"It doesn't take an expert for this Mr. Holmes. He was almost brought to tears at the mention of your name. He still believes in you," I explain as he walks over to his laptop.

"He doesn't blog about it," he points out opening the webpage.

"He ended that blog after your death. He doesn't know what to write. Look closely and you will see obvious sings of sorrow. He feels lost, the same way he did when he first came home from war," he slams his laptop shut and sulks over to his chair by the fire place. He pulls his feet under himself as he sits down.

"Why doesn't he just come here?" he pouts.

"The same reason he still pays for this flat. He doesn't want to believe you're gone," I say slowly.

"He's stupid to think I am gone. He always was an empty sort," he huffs.

"No, Sherlock. He's not an empty sort," I begin walking toward the window, "he never was. He's got a heart full of love and compassion. Sure, his mind isn't full of knowledge the way yours and mine is, but it's not empty. You're his best friend Sherlock. His heart is full of feelings for other people, something yours obviously lacks," I say climbing out the window. He follows me over and stands looking at me. "You tell him, or I will. I'll be back tomorrow to talk again. Goodbye Mr. Holmes."


	6. Part Five

**Part Five: A Second Meeting**

"Holmes, let me in," I whisper knocking on the window of 221B. His face pops up from behind the curtain. He looks at me for a minute before unlocking the window. He offers a hand to help me into the flat.

He doesn't say anything, but only goes back to his table into the kitchen. He begins looking into his microscope and occasionally taking notes.

"I'm guessing you haven't told him?" I begin interrupting the silence. He stops his work to look at me.

"Have you seen my magnifying glass? I can't seem to find it," Sherlock asks ignoring my question.

"Sherlock, why haven't you told him?" I insist.

"Told who what?" he avoids answering.

"Why have you not told John that you're alive?"

"Oh that," he pauses, "I just don't understand why he would care."

"Because he's your friend," I suggest, "friends care about each other. It's a natural human emotion."

"Well, not for me," he shrugs.

"Yes it is."

"What makes you so sure?" he asks, still curious about how good I really am at deduction.

"You said it yourself, 'If you were about to be murdered, about to die, you would say the thing that means the most to you. The thing you care most about," I begin.

"So?" he asks.

"Who did you call before the jump?" I ask. He seems surprised at my question, "You called John."

That's when he understands. He understands what I've been trying to tell him. He misses John. In fact, he's miserable without him.

"But how do you know that?" he asks.

"I've got sources everywhere Holmes. I know more than you might think," I say. "It's the same way a mother would look at her child in a state of danger, a man will reach out for the one he cares most for," I explain further.

"How do I know he still wants me to be alive?" he asks staring at the wall.

"He's miserable."

"But how do you figure that?" he asks, "I must have proof before I blow my cover."

"Well aside from crying over your dead body, we've got the easy observations. He comes to the café below everyday and hardly ever buys anything," I begin.

"He hates the food at that café," Sherlock adds.

"Clearly, he goes there for sentimental reasons. Next, every few days he has dirt under his nails when he comes, and he's got a receipt for flowers, showing he's been the one planting the flowers at your headstone," I continue.

"That's the polite thing to do," he interrupts.

"His flowers have a meaning. No man puts much thought into the meaning behind the type of flower he buys," I roll my eyes.

"Well John isn't just any man," Sherlock suggests.

"Right," I agree." He's lived with you. Meaning everything has a meaning. If he thought you were still alive, he'd leave you a message."

"And has he?" he asks showing interest.

"We'll just have to find out."


	7. Part Six

**Part Six: Note Passing**

Since I ran into Mrs. Hudson in Sherlock's apartment I started working at the café next door. John visits everyday. I avoid serving him for fear of him recognizing me. Today though, I'm trying to get information.

"Mr. Watson right?" I ask pouring him a glass of water.

"Doctor. Doctor Watson," he nods not looking up from his menu.

"I'm surprised you still have to look at the menu. I see you here nearly everyday," I laugh turning my back from him to grab a napkin to wipe the counter off, "How about I make something special?"

"Can I just have some toast?" he asks putting the menu down. I nod my head and go to make it. I glance back once to see him fiddling with a magnifying glass, no doubt the one Sherlock has been searching his flat for every night. As I walk back with his toast he puts the gadget away.

I set the toast down quickly and walk away. I retreat back to the kitchen where I can see John from afar. When he sees the toast his head shoots up. The jam reads "I believe in S.H." Quickly he spreads the jam on the toast and calls me back over.

"You're the girl I met here last week," he finally remembers.

"Do you think he could still be alive?" I ask ignoring his last statement.

"Why are you so curious?" he asks.

"Dr. Watson. I still believe he could be alive. Holmes was a clever man. Have you tried to contact him at all?" I question.

"We cannot be talking about this." He whispers to me after looking over his shoulder. His eyes scan the café as if he's looking for someone, or someone is looking for him.

"Dr. Watson, do you believe in Sherlock Holmes?" I ask demanding an answer.

His eyes are full of panic. He sighs and quickly says, "No. Sherlock is dead." He hands me the money and then leaves the café.

A message. Watson would leave a message if he were lying. I look down at the money he handed me. Between the paper money lies a sheet of paper. It reads, "I believe." Quickly I grab another slip of paper to write on. This one reads "221B 11:30p.m."

I run out the door to catch John at the end of the street. "Dr. Watson, you forgot your change." I hand him the money and he steps into a taxi after giving me a small smile. I watch the taxi turn the corner and then I turn to walk back to the café.

Suddenly I feel someone's hand over my mouth. All attempts to make a sound end in failure. The person grabs my waist and pulls me into a car. The windows are all dark so I doubt anyone can see me from the street. A blindfold is placed over my eyes and my hands are tied behind my back. The person next to me sits me up right. I sit silently. Two people beside me. Two men judging by their strength and heaviness of breath. The one next to me is a smoker. They have an advantage over me with my eyes covered. I have no clue what their abilities are or where they're taking me.


	8. Part Seven

**Part Seven: Chewing Gum**

**Sherlock's Point of View**

Where is that girl? She's usually knocking on my window by 11:24. It's now 11:29 and I see no sign of her.

Suddenly I hear footsteps at the door. She never comes in that way. Then a key sliding into the lock. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be up here at this time of night. The door swings open and I'm shocked by what I see.

"John?"

"Sherlock?" he asks surprised. He doesn't believe that it's really me. He hesitates to walk toward me.

"John it's me," I say stepping toward him.

"The girl was right," he says still looking at me in awe.

"You talked to her too? Where is she?" I ask him.

"I was supposed to meet her here," he shrugs.

"It's not like her to not show up John," I say looking at the window, "she's like me. She would've left a sign."

"What do you mean, she's 'like you'?" he asks stupidly.

"Honestly John," I sigh grabbing my coat, "What goes on in that head of yours?"

"There's the Sherlock I know," he rolls his eyes as we walk out the front door.

"Where did you last see her?" I ask as I step outside.

"Right there," he points, "I got in a cab and she handed me the note to meet her at the flat."

Stuck on a lamp post by a piece of gum is a slip of paper. I pull it off and examin it. It reads "I Believe".

"John, recognize this?" I ask handing it to him.

"It's the note I gave the girl in the café," he says at a glance.

"Got my magnifying glass?" I ask. He hands it to me without a word, "missed me that much?" I ask looking at how much it's been used since the jump. It's more worn, showing that someone has been using it.

"Maybe she just put it there on accident?" he suggests.

"Look here… signs of struggle… the grease from her hands from working on the café. She grabbed the lamp post in a fight," I explain, "at this angle she would have been pulled into a car."

"Brilliant," John sighs. As I continue to look at the lamp post John looks at the street. "Sherlock, look at these markings."

I follow his eyes to the street where there are scratches. "She kicked the bumper," I laugh. "She's brilliant! Oh, absolutely brilliant! All we have to do is follow these marks and we'll find the car."

_Bing_

I take out my cell phone to look at my new text message. It's from Kathryn.

_Help. _


	9. Part Eight

**Part Eight: **

_Silence._ It's all I hear now. I'm in an empty room. My blindfold has long been taken off. None of the people will tell me where I am or who they are. When they first put me in the room my hands weren't bound. It wasn't until they realized I had my cell phone out that they tied my up.

I can easily get untied from the ropes, but until I find a way to get farther out I don't plan on it. It's better to make them underestimate me.

"Stand up," a man commands me as he enters the room. I do so and follow where he leads me. I enter a much larger room. At one side of the room is a man. On each side of me stand large men.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asks. I shake my head no. The man is tall, not taller than Sherlock but still tall compared to me. "You're friends with Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes is dead," I say without hesitating.

"We both know you believe in Sherlock Holmes," he says, "Moiarty is dead. Sherlock, is very much alive."

"Who are you?" I ask.

"My name is Anthony Adulcisory," he spits. He points to one of the men behind me. The man begins to untie me, "tell Sherlock that some friends of his know he's alive and that we will deliver what we promised." Before I can say another word he pushes me out the door. I follow the path we took when we came in. At the first sight of light I begin running.

"Kathryn!" I hear someone scream. I turn to find Sherlock running toward me. "Are you alright?" he asks taking a deep breath.

"You followed the path?" I ask. He nods his head yes.

"Who brought you here?" John asks after catching his breath. I glance back at the building and then at the two of them.

"I'll tell you, but not here," I say. I lead them back to the main road where we catch a cab back to Baker Street.

"Now can you tell us how you got there?" John asks again as we enter the flat.

"John, let her sit for a moment," Sherlock begins only to be interrupted by me.

"No. I don't need to dit I need to think," I say pacing back and forth. John sits down quietly while Sherlock remains standing.

"Do you want me to-" he starts to say.

"Sherlock, I need you quiet so I can think," I order. He seems a little surprised but sits anyway. John is clearly used to this kind of thing happening.

_Think._ He said his name was Anthony Adulcisory. _Think. _His friend promised Sherlock something. _THINK. _Sherlock's being alive brought this on. _Think. _Who was trying to ruin Sherlock?

Moiarty 

What was promised by Moiarty. _Anthony-_ There must be something in the name. _Think. _Famous people in history named Anthony. _No. _It must be more hidden.

_Adulcisory- ad ulcisor- Latin. _Latin for "to get revenge". Bingo. Moiarty's friend wants to keep the promise Moiarty made to Sherlock but he also wants revenge.

"Moiarty," I whisper.

"Moiarty is dead," Sherlock says confused.

"Wait," John says, "I know that face. You used to make it when I wasn't following what you were saying. She's got more."

"Sherlock what did Moiarty tell you before you jumped?" I ask walking toward the window. I squint into my window across the street.

"What do you mean?" he asks stupidly looking at John.

"What ever he promised you, it's going to happen," I explain.

"What… what did he promise you?" John asks.

I look at Sherlock, his face holds a look of fear, "His friend is here, he knows you're alive and he wants to keep Moiarty's promise," I explain.

"Is that all?" he asks.

"One other thing," I begin, "he wants revenge."


	10. Part Nine

**Part Nine: Across the Street**

"Sherlock… what did Moiarty promise?" John asks again.

"Nothing to worry about now. John go to bed you've got work in the morning," Sherlock commands. John follows orders and goes right to his room. I turn and look back out the window.

"I'm sorry you were abducted on my account," Sherlock sighs sitting in his chair.

"Quite alright," I say, "I haven't had a rush like that in awhile."

"So you'll be alright in your flat alone tonight?" he asks picking at his nails to distract himself.

"I should be," I begin looking into the window of my flat across the street. Suddenly, I see a figure. I moves around my flat walking past the window multiple times. As one shadow continues to move another stops infront of the window. I jump back, "on second thought. My nerves are still jumpy, mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Sure. I'll go get you a blanket," he says standing from his chair. I look around the flat for another moment. I'd rather be anywhere then at that flat. I'm included in whatever it is that is going on here. As soon as Sherlock gets back with the blanket I'm getting him to tell me what's going on here.

"Here," he says setting the blanket on the couch, "I'll stay out here for awhile, unless you want me to leave," he awkwardly suggests.

"It's fine Sherlock. Actually, I'd really like to talk," I say sitting in John's chair.

"I'm not very good," he remarks.

"At talking? I know for a fact that you're good at talking," I laugh.

"At making conversation," he states.

"That's alright. You'll catch on," I begin, "we'll start off with a topic we both know needs explaining."

"What did you have in mind? I thought you were brilliant and all knowing," he rolls his eyes.

"What did Moiarty say to you before you jumped?" I ask.

"None of your concern," hw stands up to leave.

"It is my concern," I insist, "three men held me captive tonight on account of whatever it is the two of you talked about that day."

"Well I've got the message. You no longer need to be apart of this," he says walking past me toward the kitchen.

"Sherlock there are two more men in my flat across the street. I am clearly still part of this," I point toward the window. He slowly makes his way toward it to look in my flat across the street. He sees the shadows and seems surprised to see I was telling the truth. "You didn't honestly think I was in shock over the abduction did you?" I ask. He looks me over once, "you can't expect me to sit by and watch you kill yourself again so that he doesn't hurt them."

"I thought you didn't know what Moiarty's deal was," he remarks.

"I didn't. Lucky guess. When I said he was keeping his promies you looked sick to your stomach, making it clear it was something bad that even you couldn't live with, and you looked at John, showing he was threatened," I explain.

"Brilliant," he breathes.

"Keep me by your side Holmes. You neeed me," I say laying on the sofa and pulling the blanket over myself, "Goodnight, Sherlock."


	11. Part Ten

**Part Ten:**

"Sherlock," John yells as he's putting his coat on to go to work, "Sherlock! Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he asks.

"Visiting her sister this week," I answer him from the table where I'm eating breakfast.

"How do you?" he begins.

"I live across the street not under a rock," I roll my eyes. Johns shrugs his shoulders and then takes off. "Sherlock get out here," I yell into his room. No answer. I knock on his door but there's still no answer, "Sherlock?"

"I've been up for hours, what could I possibly miss?" he asks sneaking up behind me and making me jump.

"Where did you go? It's only 7:30 now," I ask walking back to my food.

"To make sure Mrs. Hudson was safe at her sister's," he says "Do you always eat this much?" he asks motioning toward my large amount of food set out on the table.

"When I'm stressed… or highly annoyed," I roll my eyes.

"How are you annoyed?" he asks curiously.

"By your stupid judgements," I suggest dumping my plate in the sink.

"Come on," he orders.

"Where are we going?" I ask following him out the door.

"To meet someone. If you want to change we've got to leave now," he says walking quickly down the stairs.

"I don't need to change clothes."

"You might want to," he says crossing the street to my flat's door.

"Why? Where are we going?" I ask again.

"Just trust me you'll want to be wearing something nicer than your work uniform," he says holding out his hand requesting my key. I ignore him and open the door myself.

"Give me two minuets," I say walking to my bedroom, "keep your eyes open. I can't imagine those men stopped by for a chat and just left when they found I wasn't here last night."

"Be quick," he says.

I enter my room and stop dead in my tracks. "Sherlock!" I scream. On the wall above my bed is a message. A message written in blood.

"Mori art?" he reads confused.

"Dying art," I say blankly staring.

"Pardon?" he asks walking toward the blood stained wall.

"That's what it means, well roughly," I continue my blank stare.

"Hey," he begins looking back at me, "what's wrong?"

"The body is behind the bed," I whisper.

"How do you?" he begins but then he sees the person's hand, "Kathryn call the police please."

Before doing as he says I walk toward the blood stained wall, "The blood has been here since last night."

"Do you know who this is?" he asks moving out of the way so I can see the body.

"Maddy," I sigh looking at her. He looks back at her, "She was my only friend growing up. We shared a room."

"A room?" Sherlock asks confused. He stands and walks to the other side of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"At the foster house," I explain.

"You never said anything about going through foster care," Sherlock says as he sends a text to someone.

"How many people like to talk about how their parents were brutally murdered and no detective could solve it?" I ask examining the body, "I was thrown into the foster care system because none of my family would take me in."

"So that's why you became interested in detective work? To find out what happened to your parents?" he asks looking around the rest of the flat.

"No. When I was younger I heard about your investigative skills. When you refused to help me I began studying. I wanted to find an answer," I explain still looking at the girl's body.

"Did you?" he asks turning to face me.

"Six months ago," I say standing up and turning to face Sherlock, "it was a man by the name of Jim Moriarty. I found out his enemy was the same Sherlock Holmes that refused to help me as a child. By that time, you were dead."

"So it wasn't a coincidence that you moved here?" he asked seeming surprised. Before I can reply John enters the flat.

"I've called the police," he announces looking at both of us, "Sherlock, you might want to leave if you don't want them finding out you're alive."

"They can find out it's fine. I was only dead for Moriarty," Sherlock says, "there," he points to Maddy's body, "dead since last night." John rushes toward her body as the police enter the flat.

"Watson where is it?" Lestrade asks running in, "Sherlock?!" He's surprised to see him.

"Afternoon Lestrade," Sherlock says.

"I thought you were dead," Lestrade says.

"You were meant to," Sherlock returns.

"I figure if you're here you already got all the facts. Either that or you killed her yourself," Lestrade remarks, "what can you tell me?"

"Ask my partner," Sherlock suggests. Lestrade begins to talk to John but is interrupted by Sherlock, "not that one. That one," he points at me. Lestrade looks at me hoping for an answer.

"Her name is Maddy Smith. She turned 21 two nights ago. Been dead at least five hours of a gun shot to the head. Clearly not suicide as there is no gun and this isn't her apartment," I begin to explain as if it is something everyone should know.

"Congratulations Sherlock, you've found a woman who is as strange as you," Lestrade asks, "If it's not her apartment, whose is it?"

"Mine," I answer without hesitation. Lestrade looks at me with a questioning glance, "I wasn't here last night. Sherlock and I came back here so I could change my clothes before we went to see his brother this morning."

"You spent the night at Sherlock's? Why?" he asks. Sherlock looks nervous to see my response.

"We were celebrating the fact that he was alive and I had a little too much to drink. I passed out and spent the night on his couch," I lie to avoid suspicious looks.

"Right. Okay, let's try and contact the girl's family," John says attempting to settle everything.

"She hasn't got any," I say. Lestrade and John look at me surprised.

"The girl went through the foster care system longer than I did. She's got no family to speak of. That's why she was visiting me," I explain.

"What's the writing on the wall?" Lestrade asks.

"Mori art, it means dying art," Sherlock explains.

"Can I have a minuet to think?" I ask.

"That means clear out," John says. Lestrade just looks confused. "She's just like him. She needs silence to think." Sherlock begins to leave as well but I stop him. As soon as everyone leaves I begin to speak.

"Holmes," I begin, "Moriarty. That's what was written. They killed Maddy because she's one of the only people I care about. The same way they'll kill John, Mrs. Hudson, and your brother."

"But why would the last letter of his name be left off? He clearly had time to write the y," Sherlock asks.

"The person working for Moriarty is obviously a fan of yours. It's like the Lady in Pink study," I explain.

"The message the woman left wasn't finished before she died," he remembers.

"Right. Meaning any simple detective would look at this and say it was a creative suicide note, but you would recognize the absence of a letter and put it together," I clarify for him.

"Moriarty."


	12. Part Eleven

**Part Eleven: Missing Files**

"You're sure it's Moriarty?" John asks. Sherlock is pacing up and down the floor of his flat.

"No, I'm sure it's someone working for Moriarty," Sherlock explains. "Moriarty is dead. Someone is working in his place."

"You believe it's the same guy that took you?" John asks me.

"Yes John," I say, "I do."

"Alright so where do we go from here?" he asks.

"You're not going anywhere. You need to be somewhere safe that they can't get to you," Sherlock says grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going?" John asks as Sherlock steps out the door.

"Paying a visit to my brother. He'll want to see me, and I've got a hint for his security," he says before stepping out.

"But why do I have to stay?" John asks looking at me.

"He's keeping you safe," I begin, "for the man working in Moriarty's place to finish Moriarty's plan he has to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft."

"Why me?" he stutters.

"Moriarty said he would kill the people Holmes cared about if he didn't jump. You're one of those people," I further explain.

"But what about you?"

"What about me?" I ask a little confused.

"Well you're one of the people he cares about. Shouldn't you be included in that?" he questions.

"Sherlock doesn't care about me," I roll me eyes.

"Yes he does. You're like a copy of him, only a girl. The only person on earth to match him intellectually," he insists.

"No one cares about me. Why should he?" I ask.

"Why shouldn't he? You've seen him more since the fall then I have. You solved what happened to the girl faster than he could. He looks at you like he's taught you everything you know. The way my father used to look at me," he notices.

"Well I wouldn't know how a father looks at his child now would I?" I explode and storm out. He doesn't follow me. I run across the street and into my flat. There are still police officers everywhere. I ignore their requests for me to stay out and storm into by bedroom where I go to my files.

"You can't touch anything!" an officer yells. Again I ignore his request and pull down the box where all my research on Moriarty is kept.

"It's gone." I look into the box where my files once were kept. None of them are there, "officer was anything taken from any of these boxes?" I ask pulling the next one down.

"No miss," one of them answers. At that I whip out my phone.

_They took the files. A.A. knows who I am._

_ -K_


	13. Part Twelve

**Part Twelve: **

"What do you mean, he knows who you are? What did those files contain?" John asks as I pace the floor waiting for Sherlock's return.

"They'll know my importance," I sigh still pacing, "Where is he?"

"Kathryn," Sherlock calls from downstairs, "are these them?"

I sift through the box in front of the door, "These are them. Where did you find them?" I ask making sure there isn't anything missing.

"They were here when I arrived," he says looking over his shoulder, "which means whoever put them here couldn't have gotten far. Kathryn, John, get inside," he orders pushing us inside. He picks up the box and looks over his shoulder once more before following us inside.

"Would someone clue me in to what these files are?" John cries angrily as Sherlock sets the box on the floor.

"It's the investigation of my parents murder," I explain. "It's my connection to Moriarty... and Sherlock. Moriarty murdered them and I solved the case. Moriarty hated my intelligence. The case was meant for Sherlock. When Sherlock refused to help me I took the case and solved it myself. He couldn't stand I was smart enough to solve it. It was meant to be unsolvedable for Sherlock."

"So Moriarty hated you too?" he asks surprised.

"Well, yes but by the time I brought it to the police I found out about Sherlock's death. I knew Moriarty had something to do with it do I went searching," I add.

"What did you go looking for?" John asks.

"Moriarty. I figured with Sherlock gone Moriarty would search for the only other person to match his intelligence," I shrug.

"Moriarty killed himself before I jumped," Sherlock says turning to look at me. He had been looking out the window before.

"Not according to the police report. Yours was the only body found," I say.

"No, he shot himself before I jumped. I saw it myself. It's not possible," Sherlock disagrees again.

"Moriarty was an intelligent man Sherlock," I hesitate, "If you could fake your own death, maybe he could too."

"Then who is he working through. And why?" he asks.

"Wait a minuet," John begins, "Kathryn have you ever actually seen Moriarty? I mean in person, not just a photograph."

"No. I've spent most of my life running from him," I say.

"What if that wasn't a friend of his you met the day you were abducted?" he questions.

"You mean you think it was Moriarty?" I ask to confirm what he thinks is a possibility.

_Bing_

"Who is it?" John asks watching as Sherlock pulls his phone out.

"It's him."


	14. Part Thirteen

**Part Thirteen:**

**(Sherlock's P.O.V.)**

"John, walk Kathryn back to her flat," I order.

"Why do I need to-" Kathryn protests.

"Go."They follow my orders and head over to Kathryn's flat. As soon as they're in her door I text him back.

"I'm surprised it took you this long," he says in the door way, "and her help. How does it feel? To be outsmarted by her?"

"Why shouldn't she be able to outsmart me? I created her," I say picking up my violin.

"Right, when you turned down the case," he says.

"You didn't honestly think I turned that case down for lack of interest did you? I knew the second she brought it to me that you were behind it," I explain, the sound of my violin behind my voice.

"Right, but you saw something in her and you wanted her to become a better person," he says sarcastically, "that's why you're the good guy and I'm the bad guy. You make people smart and I murder their parents."

"Why are you here?" I ask putting my violin down.

"Do destroy you," he snarls at me, "Remember, I.O.U." With that he turns and leaves. A few minuets later John reenters without Kathryn. The way he sneaks in and out of places has always been strange to me. Sometimes it's as if I'm the only one to see him. He manages to scare everyone else so much that they don't say a word even when they see him.

"What did he want?" John asks sitting in his chair.

"What do you think?" I grab my coat, "Come along. I think it's time we pay Mycroft a visit."


	15. Part Fourteen

**Part Fourteen:**

"Where are those two going?" I think to myself as I watch Sherlock and John get in a cab across the street. They don't usually sneak off without telling me. It's strange that they didn't tell me, with all that's been happening.

_Emptiness. _Everywhere I turn. The streets are empty, the café, even the city. I know it's not empty but it feels like it is. It feels like someone is lerking. It's a mysterious feeling. As if no one is here except me, and one person hiding from me.

A roar of thunder interrupts my thoughts. The rain begins to patter on the roof. I rummage through my closet to find my long rain jacket, a bright yellow on this dreary day.

I step outside into the rain. I'm not sure where I'm going. I'm just walking. Sherlock had instructed me to stay indoors, but that doesn't feel any safer than outside. Something about the emptiness of the street though seems… dangerous. I decide to walk back to my flat a moment to late.

"You really should listen to him when he tells you to stay in your flat," a voice says behind me. I turn to look at him and immediately I recognize him.

"Not you again," I sigh. Looking quickly at his coat I can see he has a gun in his suit pocket. The pocket lays flat against it. He must know that I can see it; maybe he wants me to see it.

"You can come quietly or I can force you, your choice," he smirks at me. He walks toward me and holds his arm out the way a gentleman might. "None of your tricks now. Sherlock will find you. I'll make sure of it." He leads me down an alley to a cab. He opens the door for me expecting me to get in.

"Where are we going?" I ask before I step in. He doesn't answer me and only pushes me into the car. We're silent the entire way. When the car stops he pulls the gun out of his pocket. Following the instructions he gives with hand motions I step out of the car in silence. We're in the parking lot of an old school, but not just any school, the school where my parents were murdered.

"No," I stop walking. Now realizing where we are I know I can't go any farther. He pushes the gun against my back telling me I have no choice but to keep walking. We continue into the building and into the gymnasium of the school. "Killing me in the same place you killed my parents?" I ask when we get to the center of the room. The place looks no different now than it did the last time I was here.

It was a regular day. My parents were supposed to be coming to my school to meet with my art teacher and see all the work I'd done over the year. They were late, as they usually were. With their jobs they rarely had time to see my school events. They rarely had time to see me. All my sports activities, art shows, and science fairs, they didn't go to them. That's what made it so much harder. The one time they actually came, they were murdered. Since that day I haven't picked up a paintbrush. I couldn't bring myself to participate in science fairs and school sports.

One of the men that was with him last time I was abducted brings in a chair. Moriarty leaves me standing in the middle of the room with the man. The man forces me onto the chair and ties me down. He then follows out the same way Moriarty left. Within minuets the man comes back with a gun. He stands in a corner and takes aim at me. It would take an expert marksman to shoot me from that angle, but a shot at the doorway would be simple.

Now we wait. I assume we're waiting on Sherlock to come. I can't help but think today will either be my last day, or his.


	16. Part Fifteen

**Part Fifteen: Two Shots**

**Sherlock's P.O.V.**

"If Kathryn is in danger now too," John began a sad attempt at making conversation on the car ride home, "shouldn't we have brought her with us. He's gotten her once before, he could easily get her again."

"She wouldn't be stupid enough to get caught again," I roll my eyes and his thought.

"Unless she didn't think she was in danger, because she doesn't think you care about her, so she goes out and she's overpowered again," he says matter-o-factly as we pull up infront of the flat. I glance at him and by the looks of both our faces we know she could be in danger. We jump out of the cab and run across the street to the door of her flat.

We knock on the door a few times with no answer. Turning the door knob we find that the flat is unlocked. We invite ourselves in and go up to her flat. It's empty.

"Where do you think she is?" John asks looking at all her belongings as if they might hold an answer.

"I don't know. There are no signs of a break in, so how would someone get to her?" I ask. The question was more aimed at myself but John butts in anyway.

"Maybe she just went for a walk. She might just be out," he suggests.

"A walk," I begin, "if she went for a walk they wouldn't have any reason to break in, and it's not like she would've followed my instructions to stay inside anyway."

We leave her flat and go to her front door, which is likely one of the last places she was at.

In the mailbox is one of the papers from her files, "John, where were her parents murdered?" I yell out. On the paper is written I.O.U. in red marker.

"I don't remember. It wasn't on any of the papers in the file. All it said was the grade school she went to. They shut it down after and it's been abandoned ever since," he says frantically.

"Old school," I think, "got it."

We run to the street to get a cab to take us to the school. When we get there the cab takes off immediately, clearly not wanting to be around the school more than he had to. The front door to the school is unlocked so we head directly into the building.

"He doesn't care Moriarty! He won't come looking for me," we hear Kathryn yelling. The sound is coming from the direction of the gymnasium. We make our way over to the doors.

"Wait," I order John, "don't follow me in. If they make me drop my gun they'll make you drop yours." He nods in understanding.

"No!" Kathryn screams when I step in. "Don't come any closer!" Her eyes point to the corner and then back at me. There is a man standing there. He has a gun. He moves his aim from Kathryn to me and back to her.

"You know why you're here," I hear Moriarty's voice echo over a speaker. "What's it going to be? Her life, or yours?"

"Sherlock don't you dare!" Kathryn says over the voice. "Sherlock your life is more valuable. Let him shoot me, I don't care." I don't answer, but I pull by gun from my pocket and drop it on the floor.

"Please Sherlock," she cries, "Do not do this. I can't watch you die a second time. I haven't got anyone here for me. He killed them years ago in this very spot. You've got people who care about you."

"So do you," I call back.

"Make your choice," Moriarty calls over us again.

"Sherlock please," Kathryn whimpers now.

"That's is. Shoot the girl," Moriarty says.

"No!" I scream. Everything around me slows. Instead of one gunshot, I hear two. The gunman in the corner drops his gun and grips his hand in pain. Then I hear Kathryn call out in agony. I run toward her as fast as my legs can carry me.

"John!" I call. He comes running into the gym. We untie Kathryn from the chair and pull her down onto the floor. The gunman hit her in the lef. John begins to do what he can to stop the bleeding while I call for an ambulance.

I can't imagine what would happen if she died because of this. I'd never let myself live it down. The next brilliant mind in this world, dead, all because I couldn't save her.

"Kathryn stay awake," I hear John order bringing me out of my fog. "Sherlock, she's lost a lot of blood."

"Kathryn, please don't die," I beg doing what I can to help John. With his military knowledge I can hope that he has moved fast enough to help her. Not a moment too soon the ambulance shows up and carries her off to the hospital.


	17. Part Sixteen

**Part Sixteen:**

"She's awake. Try not to scare her when you talk to her," I can hear the nurse tell Sherlock and John outside the hospital room I'm staying in.

"Scare her? The girl just looked at a gun straight on and told me to let her die," Sherlock says pushing toward the door.

"You're Mr. Holmes I presume?" she asks him. He nods his head in agreement, "she asked to only see Dr. Watson."

"Pardon?" Sherlock asks surprised, "I saved her life, why would she not want to see me?"

"Sherlock, I saved her. Just let it be for now," John suggests. He pushes past Sherlock and into the room, "Hey, Kathryn. How are you feeling?" he asks as he sits on the foot of the hospital bed.

"How am I feeling? I just got out of surgery and yesterday I got shot. I'm feeling great," I roll my eyes at him. A silence falls over us, "what happened?"

"What- what do you mean?" he stutters.

"John, don't start with me. I don't want to be lied to. That's all I get in here. You've gone through this. You've been shot. You know how it feels. Who shot the second bullet, who did it hit, and what happened after?" I insist on an answer.

"Maybe you should try and get some rest," he suggests trying to stand and leave.

"John, please. Please tell me what happened. I can handle it. If anyone knows what I'm going through it should be you," I beg.

"You really want to know what happened?" he asks sitting back down on the foot of my bed. I nod my head. "The second gun shot was one from my gun. It hit the man that shot you. He ran off before help came for you so we don't know where he is or what condition he's in.:

"I didn't even see you until after I was on the floor," I question, "and even then everything was blurry."

"I was outside the door. Sherlock figured if we both went in we wouldn't be able to protect you," he further explains.

"Why would Sherlock let himself get shot? He dropped his gun, I remember that part, but why?" I ask.

"He didn't want you to be killed," John suggests.

"That's ridiculous. I told him to let the man shoot me. Plus, it would've taken an expert shot to hit me from that angle. The man was too shaky as it was to get a good shot," I say.

"He cares about you. He couldn't sit there and watch you die," John begins to roll his eyes as if my response was stupid but stops knowing I'll see it.

"Why would he care about me?" I scoff.

"Because you're brilliant! You're just like him. I've never seen someone so smart yet so stupid," he rants, "Why won't you accept that you finally have someone in your life that cares about you? In fact, you have two people. Sherlock and I both care about you. You've done so much for the two of us. We couldn't watch you die like that."

"You care about me because I'm smart? So it's so I can solve your cases that you saved me?" I ask.

"No!" he argues.

"John, maybe I should speak with her," Sherlock says in the doorway.

"I don't want to…" I begin but Sherlock cuts me off.

"No. You'll want to hear this," he sighs. John looks from Sherlock back to be and then back to Sherlock again. He stands from where he was sitting and then leaves the room. Sherlock takes John's place at the foot of my bed.

"You want to know why I feel so protective over you?" he sighs struggling with his words as if he's never used them before.

"I'm a great help with detective work," I suggest sarcastically.

"Kathryn, do you remember the day you came to me asking me to solve your parents murder case?" he asks me.

"Sure, you asked me all those questions and then you said you couldn't help me. You turned me away," I say.

"Do you remember what I asked you?"

"You asked me about the room around me. We were in your flat," I remember.

"That day I realized there was another person on the earth with a mind like mine. You saw things about the flat that most people don't. It was as if you knew me personally. As if you'd spent most of your life in the flat. You could see how often an item was used, who used it, everything. The problem was you needed a push to use it to its full ability. I wanted to make you have a reason for going into detective work," he explains, "I knew the only way to get you to gain intelligence was to make it something you cared about. You have something that, at the time, I didn't have. You had a heart."

"Well it seems that everything that I cared about has been taken away, so what does it matter?"

"He's trying to break you down!" Sherlock practically screams. He stands up and begins pacing back and forth. "The one thing you've always held over us. He's killing the things you love, destroying them to try and break your heart. With a heart you see things that others don't. With your heart you're smarter than me, smarter than him. He can't stand having someone that is smarter than him. He's trying to break you down. Love is a weakness, but it's also a strength."

"What made you change your mind? You always thought it was a weakness," I ask looking at him still pacing.

"You were the confirmation. If you could solve the case I knew love could also be a strength, not a great one, but it's still a strength. I've learned that a lot recently," he sighs.

"You've learned it from John," I laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"John taught you how important love is, how important friendship is," Sherlock seems surprised by my deduction.

"Well, but I…" he stutters.

"Holmes, you jumped off a building for him," I remark.

"And for Mrs. Hudson," he says with a light chuckle behind his voice.

"And for Mycroft," I add. That gets him laughing.

"Let's not tell anyone about that one," he says still laughing.

"Sherlock," John says entering the room, "the nurse says it's time for us to go. Kathryn needs to sleep." Sherlock and I look at each other and he does something I've never seen him do before. He gives me a kiss on the forehead and brushes the hair that had fallen in front of my eyes away, then turns to leave. The two of them wave at me as they exit the room.


	18. Part Seventeen

**Part Seventeen:**

**Sherlock's P.O.V.**

"So she's doing well?" John asks me as we leave the hospital again. We've visited Kathryn a few times now during her stay at the hospital.

"You've seen her."

"Well, yes but… you two seem to have gotten close. She doesn't tell me much," he sighs sitting in the cab.

"Maybe she just doesn't have much to talk to you about. We talked like this when she used to come to the flat before you knew I was alive. Maybe she just looks for more… intelligent conversations," I suggest.

"I can hold an intelligent conversation," he remarks, "What do you really talk about?"

"Her family."

"Her family? They're all dead, what could you possibly know about her family?" he asks.

"The things in the file," I begin, "and the mother worked with Mycroft. Her father was a friend of Molly's."

"Of Molly's? Have you introduced the two of them? I'm sure they'd hit it off," he suggests.

"No. I'm waiting until she's a little more mobile. Molly wanted a little more time to find old pictures and things. She said she wanted to have something to show her when they met," I explain climbing out of the cab.

We don't speak again until we're inside the flat. When we enter John begins again, "when do you think he'll try and contact us again?"

"Moriarty? I have no idea. I'd assume he won't have the courtesy to wait until Kathryn can walk again though," I say putting the tea on.

"If he won't wait then how do we know she's safe?" he asks sitting in his chair.

"We don't. I've arranged with Mrs. Hudson to have her stay in 221 A until she's walking again. I want to be able to keep an eye on her."

"And she's alright with that?" he asks opening his blog on his computer.

"Haven't told her yet."

"Why not?" He asks surprised, "She doesn't seem like one who's willing to live with people like us watching her every move."

"She's stayed with us before," I say.

"Yes, because she saw a man in her apartment, not because she wanted us to take care of her," he snaps. The sound of my phone in my pocket interrupts his next sentence.

_I can wait._

_ -JM_

"It's him?" John asks seeing my face.

"He's going to wait until she's strong," I say realizing what he's doing to her.

"That's good, right? She'll be safe until she's capable of protecting herself, right?" John asks.

"He'll hurt her when she's vulnerable. He's trying to get her when she feels safe, so he can break her heart…"

"Break her heart?" John asks, "Sherlock. I'm not following."

"He's coming back when she's safe. She'll believe her life is good. She'll trust everyone. She'll love again. That's when he'll break her," I explain.

"So Moriarty is aiming to break her heart, not kill her?" John questions.

"He may be aiming to do both, but I think he wants to watch her suffer first."


	19. Part Eighteen

**Part Eighteen:**

**One Year Later**

"Sherlock I want to help you with the experiments," I complain as I sit watching him work once again.

"No. Rest your leg," he says monotonously.

"That's all you've said for the past year. I'm walking now Sherlock. Let me help with something," I beg. The past year has been so incredibly boring. Sherlock has had almost no cases. The few cases he actually took on, he refused to bring me along.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he says still not looking up from his microscope. It feels almost like the first few nights I visited him all over again. It's as if the closeness we shared only a year ago doesn't exist.

"How much harm can come to me while looking in a microscope?" I question. He doesn't answer, but only continues on with his work.

"Where's my coat?" he asks without a glance upward.

"I took it. It's sitting on your bed now," I sigh. Seeing no use in sitting idly I stand from my seat and begin my trek across the room. Each step is slow with my cane in hand. I must look like an elderly lady by the way I walk, but I'm invisible to Sherlock. I continue on until I reach the stairs.

The journey down the stairs is even more tedious. My steps are slow and it's a wonder how Sherlock managed to block out the sound of my feet hitting the stairs. I sound like a lame elephant limping across the savannah.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs the front door opens and a gust of wind blows in with it. In the doorway stands officer Lestrad.

"Where's Sherlock?" he asks immediately.

"Upstairs," I point, "What's going on?" I yell after him as he and several other detectives follow him up, the last ones being Anderson and Donovan. "One of you tell me what's going on?" I ask before the two of them make it all the way up the steps.

"A little girl's body was found by the river," Anderson explains.

"Why are you so quick to get Sherlock?" I ask.

"His name was written in the sand next to her," Donovan adds glancing up the stairs to see that Sherlock still hasn't agreed to come along.

"Take me there," I order.

"Take you? We're not even supposed to be bringing Sherlock," Anderson remarks.

"You know Sherlock takes pride in me being as intelligent as him. If you take me now I can tell you what I see and you can transfer it over to Sherlock. Make him look like the idiot," I persuade. Anderson would give anything to prove to Sherlock that he's smart. Chances are Sherlock will know I'm there, but that won't stop me from going now.

The two of them look at each other and then agree. They lead me to one of the cars were we quickly drive to the crime scene. When we arrive the beach is completely taped off. They lead me directly over to the body.

"She was found here this morning. Blow to the head," Anderson points to where the girl's head is dented in. With closer examination it's shown that the blow occurred after she had been dead for many hours.

"She drowned. She wasn't hit, at least not hard enough to kill her. Been lying here a few hours," I explain as I begin to examine the girl. There is a bruise on her shoulder, a straight line. She has on shoe on, a rain boot. Her clothes are tattered so not much can be said by those, "May I have your phone?" I ask.

"My phone?" Anderson asks surprised.

"Mine is at Sherlock's," I say as he hands it over to me. I quickly search weather reports and local schools.

"What do you know?" Donovan asks.

"A young school girl," I begin still looking at the phone, "whatever school bag she was carrying was ripped off her by the attacker, it was most likely the way the person got a hold of her.

"What can that tell you?" Donovan asks. I glance up from the phone.

"That won't tell us much, aside from how large the attacker must have been by the size of the bruise. But the rain boot, it could tell us exactly who she is. If her parents have already placed a missing child report then it should be easy to see what young girls have gone missing."

"How's that?" Donovan asks.

"The weather reports. What cities expected rain and which of those cities have missing girls that match this description," I explain.

"Here comes Sherlock," Anderson alerts.

"Her name is Rachel Evers," I state before Sherlock is within range.

"Couldn't wait for me?" Sherlock asks standing behind me, "If you want to work with me you'll need to at least let me come along."

"You wouldn't have brought me along," I sneer.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he sighs.

"I'm not a child, Holmes," I snap, "I know this world is dangerous. I've known since I was a child, and if you think I don't know that Moriarty has been threatening me then you're wrong."

"How do you-?" Sherlock begins.

"He's left messages, Sherlock. Look at this young girl," I point. John is closely examining the girl while Sherlock and I speak, "she's another message. He won't wait much longer."

"How's the girl a sign?" he asks stepping closer to look at her.

"I went to the same school after my parent's death that she goes to, or rather went to," I explain.

"Right, so I'm sure one of you has an idea of who she is," John says standing up next to the girl's body.

"Her name is Rachel Evers. She went missing three days ago," I sigh sadly looking down on her body.

"Anderson, find the girl's parents," Lestrad orders. As Anderson and Donovan leave Lestrad approaches Sherlock and I. "Explain to me why this girl is some sort of a sign. A sign for what? Is this some sort of a game to you? A child has been murdered."

"And a girl has been shot," Sherlock retorts pointing at me. "If you think I'm taking this lightly you're wrong. I'm waiting for him to get a hold of me. Until then, there's nothing I can do."

_Bing._

"What is it?" I ask as he reads his phone.

"Lestrad, take Kathryn don't let her out of your sight," he commands running toward the street, "John come with me."

"Holmes, don't you dare!" I shout after him, still ignoring me. He catches a taxi before I can run to him.

"What was that?" Lestrad asks.

"He got a hold of him," I roll my eyes, "He'll never learn to include me, will he?"

"Don't take it personally," Lestrad beings leading me to his car, "he's never been good at that."


	20. Part Nineteen

**Part Nineteen:**

"Where are we going Sherlock?" John asks as they ride past Baker Street.

"Where ever the taxi takes us," Sherlock answers looking intently at the cabbie.

"We're letting him take us somewhere and we have no idea where we're going or how to get back? That's a great plan," John says sarcastically.

Suddenly they hear a phone ring. Sherlock immediately pulls his out but soon learns it was not his phone that rang. John retrieves his from his pocket only to see it wasn't his either. The phone rings again, but this time they see it at Sherlock's feet.

"Is that the-," John begins only to be silenced by Sherlock. The phone is identical to the one that belonged to the woman from the lady in pink case, "What does the text say?"

"It's a picture message," Sherlock states looking at it.

"Of what?"

"A tattoo," Sherlock says while creating a new message. He forwards the message to Kathryn's phone. Before John can ask another question the taxi comes to a stop. Sherlock steps out of the taxi and John follows.

"Why did he takes us here?" John asks.

"The tattoo was our answer. It was referring to the smugglers we found last year. This is where they took you to kill you," Sherlock explains. The two of them slowly enter the tunnel to see what it was that was waiting for them.

* * *

"Lestrad I'm going back to my flat," Kathryn says as she enters a taxi that has just pulled up along the beach where Sherlock and John had left Kathryn in Lestrad's care.

"I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight," Lestrad reminds her as she sits down.

"You tell him the address then if you don't trust me to go right home," she suggests. Lestrad rolls his eyes and shuts the door.

"Just be careful," he instructs.

Kathryn gives the cabbie her address and the driver begins toward Baker Street. While on the car ride Kathryn feels her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She quickly retrieves it to see a picture message alert. Opening it she sees the picture of the tattoo that Sherlock had sent from the mysterious phone.

"Whose number is this?" she thought to herself, "and why would they have send me a picture of a tattoo?" It wasn't immediately that Kathryn realized why the picture was sent to her. By the time she got to her flat she recognized it as the smugglers' tattoo. Sherlock had told the story of saving John and his date on many different occasions, but he never mentioned where it was the smugglers took them.

Kathryn raced to John's workplace. Sherlock also failed to remember what John's date had been named so it took awhile to find her. She found out where they had been that night and went there as fast as she could. When she got to the tunnel she entered quietly.

Before she got even five feet into the tunnel she got another text message. It was another forwarded message from the mysterious number. This time there was no picture attached. The message told a shorter version of the Hansel and Gretel story.

"Why on earth?" Kathryn began to ask herself before realizing that one of Sherlock's cases involved using the story of Hansel and Gretel. When she realized what the message meant she continued on in the tunnel.

* * *

"Sherlock, how long will we follow these bread crumbs?" John asks.

"Until the next text message," Sherlock says just before his phone rings again. He opens the message to see a picture of the Baskerville hound.

"What does that mean?" John asks. Sherlock doesn't answer but continues on in the tunnel. Suddenly the pink phone rings again with another picture of the Baskerville hound, the same exact picture. This time Sherlock forwards the message to Kathryn.

"Look!" John points. At the end of the tunnel is a blinking light.

"I don't remember a blinking light," Sherlock says confused.

"I do, on the hill," John says still watching the light blink. Seeing that the breadcrumb trail has ended they continue on in the direction of the light.

"Do you think Kathryn understood the messages?" John asks as they follow the light.

"The days before she sent you to the flat, we would talk at night. She wanted to hear the stories of the cases I've worked on. More specifically, the ones we worked on. She knows every detail that I know. I'm sure she's already on her way," Sherlock explains.

"But you told Lestrad not to let her out of his sight," John reminds him.

"She left before she even got the first text. She wouldn't have stayed with Lestrad for long."

The two continue on until they reach the end of the tunnel. They see no source of the light.

"Now where?" John asks looking in all directions. Sherlock doesn't answer but find his way to the back alley behind a warehouse. He starts climbing up the old and rusty fire escape.

* * *

After following the breadcrumbs to where the light begins blinking Kathryn realizes she has to pick up speed if she wants to get to Sherlock and John quickly.

At the end of the long tunnel Kathryn is struck with the same question of where to go next. She hadn't gotten any new text messages since the picture of the Baskerville hound.

Upon looking up at the roof of the old warehouse she can see a figure, then two, and then three figures. Figuring that the three were Sherlock, John, and Moriarty, she began climbing the back fire escape. When she reaches the top she is spotted immediately.

"How nice of you to join us, Kathryn," Moriarty says as he sees her reach the roof, "we're just here to finish what we started a few years ago."

Kathryn slowly begins to approach John and Sherlock, keeping her distance between Moriarty as large as possible.

"Kathryn, stand behind me," Sherlock instructs.

"No need," Moriarty begins stepping closer to Sherlock and John, "she's not the one in danger."

"You threaten me when you're outnumbered?" Sherlock questions, "you've got no power over me."

"No, but I have this," he jumps toward John and pulls a gun from his coat. He puts the gun against his head and steps away from Sherlock pulling John with him.

"You trust me to kill myself again?" Sherlock asks him while stepping in front of Kathryn to be sure Moriarty can't get to her.

"No, but I trust Kathryn," he shrugs.

"You will not touch her," Sherlock commands.

"I don't need to. You'll make her kill you. She'll have no choice," he says, "either she kills you, or you kill her… or I could just kill him."

From behind Sherlock Kathryn makes a surprised noise. Sherlock turns to face her. She looks up at him with eyes of fear.

"Kathryn, listen to me. You have to do this," Sherlock insists.

"Why? Sherlock, it's three to one it doesn't have to happen like this," she replies.

"I can't put John in this danger. He won't rest. You're not safe unless you do this. If anyone were to take my life, I'd want it to be you. I trust you to do this," he reassures her. She still has a frightened look in her eyes, "How will you have her do this?"

"She can shoot you, or she can come up with another way to take your life. As long as I get to see the pain in her eyes when you're dead," he snickers knowing Sherlock is going along with his plan.

Kathryn's eyes dart around the rooftop looking for a way out. Suddenly her eyes fall on a rope and she remembers something she and Sherlock had once talked about.

"I won't shoot him," Kathryn states, "I'll hang him by his neck."


	21. Part Twenty

**Part Twenty:**

"Good, what a lovely way to go," Moriarty laughs. Kathryn slowly walks to the side of the roof where the rope sits. Moriarty still has his gun on John and Sherlock is standing still opposite them.

"Kathryn are you really going to do this?" John asks as she picks up the rope. She doesn't say anything in response. Her eyes are still full of fear as she begins tying the rope in a complicated knot. With shaky hands the rope drops from her hands.

"Kathryn," Sherlock comforts walking toward her. He picks up the rope off the ground and beings tying it for himself. Quickly, Kathryn pulls the rope from his hands and begins untying and retying the knot. Sherlock looks at her slightly confused as she unties it. If the knot was tied wrong it would change the out come of the night's events, and Kathryn knew it.

"I will not have you making your own death trap," she mutters. She finishes tying it and allows Moriarty's eyes to wander over it. After his nod of approval she travels over to the fire escape that brought them to the roof only moments ago. She tightly ties the rope to the fire escape being sure it won't come undone.

Up above Sherlock begins a slow march to his death. Moriarty's pale lips slide into a crooked, evil smile. Kathryn lets a single tear fall as Sherlock reaches the top of the fire escape.

"No!" John screams from the roof," I won't let you do this!" he fights Moriarty trying to get out of his grasp. Instead of shooting him, the way he threatened, he turns the gun over and knocks him out with a strong blow to the head. As John's body drops to the floor Moriarty makes his way to the fire escape.

"Don't rush," he says with a smile, "I wouldn't want to miss anything."

"Kathryn," Sherlock whispers, "I want you to know, I… I've come to realize how proud I am of you. I never knew another human who could ever compare to my knowledge, but you continue to amaze me. I want you to know that I look at you like a daughter, and I have for a long time."

"Sherlock, stop," Kathryn insists.

"No. Let me speak, because I may never get the chance to again," Sherlock says, not wanting to forget to tell her anything. "I thought the day I met you that you could be something special. Now I know for sure that you are. I want you to take on the role of Consulting Detective. It would only feel right."

"How sweet," Moriarty interrupts now standing on the same level as the other two, "let's get on with it."

Sherlock turns to hug Kathryn one last time. A single tear falls from his eye now. Kathryn slips the rope over his head, her hands lingering over his neck as she mouths the words, "I'm sorry," to him. Her hands slip down and rest on his chest as she looks at him. Neither of them wants to break the stare, but they know that they have to. His eyes glisten a little as he steps over the railing. Looking back at Kathryn the moon hits his face, causing his cheekbones to become even more defined.

"Go on Holmes. You know you have to do it do keep them safe," Moriarty taunts.

"Give me your word you will not harm them," he says with a strong tone of voice. The way he carries himself makes it seem as if he's not afraid to die at all.

"You have my word," Moriarty nods.

Sherlock looks back in the direction of the moon.

"I'm so sorry," Kathryn apologizes.

"Don't be. Tell John that I'm sorry. Tell him not to give up. I don't want him fading into black again. Take care of him," Sherlock stutters now making it plain how scared he is. He takes a deep breath as one foot begins to slide off the railing. This time will be different. He won't feel the impact of the ground. This time, he'll feel the tug of the rope at his throat. Sherlock doesn't have a plan this time to escape death. Last time he was sure of himself. It wasn't by chance that he lived. He planned it. He knew he would live. Now he knew he wouldn't. Now he knew his last step was truly coming. Now he knew he was leaving his friends for good.

With one last breath he takes his final step. Kathryn shuts her eyes in fear immediately as his body hangs limp from the rope.

"Good," Moriarty says looking over the edge of the railing at Sherlock's dangling body, "Now you."


	22. Part Twenty-One

**Part Twenty-One:**

"You gave him your word," Kathryn says backing up from Moriarty as he steps toward her.

"And now he's dead," he smiles an evil grin, "the things I said to him no longer matter."

"He gave his life to protect me, to protect John and I. You told him no harm would come to me," Kathryn sputters stepping back again. This time her back hits the railing, stopping her from going any farther, "He trusted you to keep your word."

"He was stupid," Moriarty shoots stepping closer.

"He was a brilliant man," she insists.

"He was foolish. He let love be the death of him."

"If one must die, love is an honorable enough reason. Love for ones country, love for another, it's all the same. Why do you look down upon it so much?" Kathryn questions. Moriarty gives no answer. He stands with a blank look on his face. "Is it because you've never truly experience it?"

Moriarty shows a slight softness in his face before hiding it again in a rough expression.

"You've never experienced love," she realizes, "he was your only friend. Yet you killed him."

"Enough talk. Why don't you just get it over with?" he takes another step toward her.

Up above John begins to regain consciousness. Looking at his surroundings he quickly realizes where he is. Cautiously he begins toward the fire escape. On his way he picks up the gun that Moriarty had dropped moments before.

Looking over the edge John sees Kathryn backed up against a railing with Moriarty stepping closer and closer to her. Sherlock was no where in sight. Moriarty takes another step toward Kathryn, now only arms length away. Reaching out Moriarty places his hands on Kathryn's shoulders. She begins to fight him off, doing everything she can to keep him away from her.

Quickly John picks up the gun. Taking aim he swiftly pulls the trigger. He watches as the bullet hits Moriarty's shoulder causing him to stagger back and forth. The staggering causes him to lose his balance and begin to fall. With his hands still on Kathryn's shoulders he puts her off balance. She begins to fall as well. All at once the two of them fall over the railing.

John runs down to where the two had been as fast as he can. Dissapointed by what he sees he finds himself beginning to tear up.

"John," he hears a voice call. Looking down he sees Kathryn holding on for her life to a railing.

"Kathryn?" he calls. Reaching his hand down to her he begins to pull her up. "I thought I'd killed you," he sighs pulling her into a hug, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine John," she says letting go of him and beginning to stand up, "but let's get Sherlock up. The hook won't hold much longer."

"The hook?" he asks confused. Kathryn goes to where the rope is and begins to pull it up.

"You know John, you could help," Kathryn reminds, "Sherlock you could too."Eventually, they manage to pull Sherlock back onto the fire escape.

"You did it," Sherlock gasps for air.

"You're alive?" John asks surprised, "You should be dead by now."

"Kathryn, I thought you didn't know how long it would last. I thought you hadn't come up with a sure way to do it. You said you hadn't perfected a design yet," Sherlock begins still not taking the rope from his neck off.

"I hadn't. I didn't know how long it would hold. I wanted you to test it at some point," she explains.

"So you figured you'd put my life at high risk while doing so?" he laughs, "But how does it work? I hardly felt the pressure of the rope."

"I'd love to stay and chat, but can we just get back to the flat?" John asks, "Let's not be here when they find his body."

"You killed him?" Sherlock asks a little surprised.

"He fell off the fire escape," Kathryn explains.

Kathryn and John help Sherlock to stand and then begin down the fire escape. When they reach the ground they head back through the tunnel.

"So explain to me how I survived a hanging," Sherlock requests.

"It took a couple of different steps," Kathryn begins explaining, "the knot I tied, it gave a little extra space around your neck and would not pull tight no matter how much weight was added. Then when I put it around your neck I hooked it to the vest in your coat."

"What vest?" John asks.

"The vest I sewed to his jacket. I sewed it there a yesterday when I said I took it and then forgot about it, that is until Moriarty was going to have me kill Sherlock," Kathryn says as the three of them load into a taxi. "I wasn't prepared for him to try to kill me after, though. You saved my life John, thank you."

"Oh well it was no trouble," he gives a slight smile still thinking about the vest being sewn into Sherlock's coat.

"So that was the reason the coat fit differently today," Sherlock says, "that's brilliant Kathryn. Excellent timing as well."

"Thank you. I'm glad it lasted as long as it did," she smiles as they enter the flat on Baker Street.


End file.
